Tale of an old woman

By Ayan Hossain 

 

The bidder state three at final. The old woman
Not with smooth cheeks but with patches and tan,
In a trembling voice, agree to sell.
Sell some of her subject, with those she has a tale.

She nurtures the plants in her own hand,
To grow some vegetables on the land.
From like white the colour she extract,
In the far land where those three live intact.

The woman I see, no monger ordinary.
A woman bring everything from her little farm and diary.
She lives in a small cottage, with her two orphan progeny,
Live happily, but not earn so many.

All she does to grow those child,
To make them survive in the nature so wild,
She is a warrior in her own,
But in the crowd she is now unknown.

At the end of day, on bear foot she walks,
Towards her home on the red paths.
Though get enough or not,
Everyday she goes back with a hope for the next day of a lot.


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